


Blood tears

by MaChi1993



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Abusive Relationship, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaChi1993/pseuds/MaChi1993
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Three purposes." he murmurs, resting the serrated blade on his skin, shivering at the cold metal. And who was him to not fulfill his own intentions? [2pGer1pIta]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood tears

**Author's Note:**

> Sharing one of the most dark fic I ever written because… Well, I need some advice about how I can improve my english, seeing that my next long will be in english, and this translation was quite hard to do.
> 
> So, please, read it and tell me what I can improve!
> 
> There’s no a specific historical context, I wanted to exsersize on the psychological aspect of the characters and the way they can interact - by the way, trigger warning for mention of abusive relationship, you were warned.
> 
> Enjoy!

Eight American soldiers, poorly hidden among the bushes of the oasis. One of them has a wounded leg, another one is half blind after a bomb exploded near him. Thus, the ones to be afraid are only six: four to say the truth, seeing how two of them are practically peeing themselves from fear since they have seen him, a rifle in one hand and a knife in the other, invulnerable to any bullet fired from a human hand. And, unfortunately for them, today there's no America ready to defend his fellow soldiers – too bad, he would have like to punch him on the other eye too.

Germany laughs, watching with amusement the unaware soldiers discussing frantically with gestures to decide the best strategy to attack him. It seems like they are still convince to have some kind if chance to escape, even after they have seen the massacre done by him just a few hours ago. But it's better this way: he doesn't like easy victories.

He waits for fifteen minutes, until he hears a movement from the bushes behind him: one of the soldiers pounces on him, holding a knife and screaming some curses in a mix of English and French – oh, how much he hates Americans and their horrible accent!

Germany stays still, impassive, even when he perceives the presence of a second soldier, his rifle point against him. Without too much effort, he grabs the soldiers wrist and disarms him, then he turns quickly and uses him as a human shield against the three bullets fired from the other soldier. He sees the shooter turn pale, while the back of his companion colors red .

He throws the now corpse on the ground, then he hits violently on the stomach a third soldier, who dashed toward him in a mad and desperate attempt to avenge his friend, the greatest mistake that a military man could do on the battlefield; he grabs him by the collar, and stick his knife in the jugular, ripping it.

He hears a frenetic movement in the bushes, and the survivors' horrifying screams. He reloads his guns, ad aims toward the men who are running away, lost in their fear, and shoots five times; the distinct sound of five bodies falling reaches his ears.

Germany sighs tiredly, removing the hat to cool himself a little, repenting almost immediately when he feels his skin pratically burn under the sun – he would never get used to the African hot climate.

He dries his forehead with his blood-stained tank top, while he gets over the bushes and little trees, until he reaches the last survivor, the half-blind soldier; his companion, lying in the ground in a puddle of blood, had probably protected him from the bullet.

"K-Karl? Karl, w-w-w-wake u-p K-Karl." the young boy stutters, shaking the corpse of his friend with trembling hands. When he hears the safety catch of a gun being unlock he freezes on place. He turns around, and Germany notices a poorly made bandage on the left eye, while the right one doesn't seems to be able to stay open for too long.

 _"B-Bitte,"_  says the young man, reaching out and grabbing the dark boot of the nation," _b-bitte lass mich gehen!"_

If there's something that Germany hates more than Americans, are Americans that speak German. Hearing a noble language like his own – all languages, really - spoken from the filthy mouth of these idiots, twisted by that strange and horrible accent, makes him feel sick.

 _"Es tut mir leid"_  he murmurs, pointing his gun on the soldier's front, "if you hadn't talked, maybe I could let you go away".

He wouldn't have done that, obviously; but seeing the look of pure terror and regret on the face of his victims is always entertaining. There's another thing that he hates about Americans: they can't do anything silently, neither dying.

* * *

Germany sighs heavily, sitting under the fronds of a tree, sheltered from the burning African sun, and takes the pitcher of water from his belt. He brows the corpses in front of him: they are probably around twenty; counting the eight ones killed the little woods nearby, they are twenty-eight in total. He laughs. This time, it would have been Prussia's turn to offer him beer.

"Stupid Americans." he says, touching lightly the wound on his chest, a "gentle" gift from America the last time they met. He drinks a long sip of water, trying to repress his laughter. On the wound the military doctor had to put seven stitches; curiously, he killed twenty-eight soldiers, four for every stitch. Sometime, destiny has a really strange sense of humor.

He can't hold a grin, thinking about the overpowering victory obtained in this battle; even though they were in numerical disadvantage, his soldiers managed fight back with honor and efficiency, without any loss, while he didn't report neither a little scratch. If only it wasn't for his clothes dirty of blood… Americans' blood.

He does not know why, but this thought makes him laugh. He laughs while he drinks another sip of water, imagining America's face when he'll look at that oasis full of massacred corpses. He laughs thinking about Prussia's corrugated face when he would have being force to pay for his beer. He laughs while he pictures Japan's face when he would have come to know about the battle and of its result, an expression of mute horror and disgust on the usually impassive face – not that it's something new: him and that stupid dwarf are not in good terms, after all.

While he laughs, he touches again the wound on his chest, massaging it slowly; it's almost inevitable to think about the person that took care of it, with kindness and a bit clumsily, a week before.

_"Italien, please, be more gentle" Germany says, while he looks at the trembling hands of his companion, busy to fix the bandage on his chest. Today he has discover that, besides of being an unbearable talkative, America has a good aim too._

_"Scusa, G-Germania." Italy stutters, putting the last safety pin in the bandages, "v-ve, I've done."_

_The German nation tries to move his right arm, stiffening when a jolt of pain passes through all his chest and arm._

_"V-Ve, G-Germany, don't move, y-you will only m-make it worse!" Italy helps him to lower his arm, and gives him a little massage on the shoulder – a delicate but surprisingly strong touch for such little and clumsy hands._

_"Danke Italien." says the German man, finally able to relax after hours passed to control all the wounded soldiers and to take care about the military bureaucracy, all with severe pain in his arm. He closes his eyes, suddenly feeling all the tiredness of that busy day on his sore body; he lays down on the cot, getting as comfortable as he can, lulled by Italy's massage. Suddenly, though, he feels something dripping_   _on his shoulder. He opens his eyes, annoyed, but he immediately notice that those drops are in fact Italy's tears, who is trembling violently and can hardly keep his sobs._

_"Italien, what's up now?" he asks, sitting up with a bit of difficulty, and Veneziano doesn't have the strength to protest for that action that could have reopen the wounds. Actually, he doesn't seem to be able to talk either._

_"Italien?"_

_"G-Germania… I-I c-can't, p-please-" the Italian nation stutters, eyes open wildly and fix on nothing, breath coming out harshly. The German man immediately recognize the symptoms of a panic attack; he grabs a bottle of water near him and approaches it to Veneziano's lips, pouring slowly the water in his mouth while keeping his head still with his free hand._

_"Italien, drink calmly, please." he instructs, staring into the other eyes calm down, "it's alright, I'm here with you."_

_His efforts seems to have a good effect: Veneziano calms visibly, leaning on the German man good shoulder, although he seems to be still a little jumpy; he wraps an arm around the Italian nation's trembling body, but this gestures seem to only make him more nervous._

_Some minutes pass in total silent, before Germany begins to caress gently the Italian's curly hair, noticing only now how much his figure is emaciated since they have been transferred on the African front. "Since when you have panic attacks?"_

_"…F-From a while." the other nation answers, still trembling, hiding his face in his ally's neck, finding a bit of relief against his cold skin._

_"How much 'From a while'?"_

_"I-I don't-"_

_"Italien, don't lie to me." says the German nation with an harsher tone than he intended, and the heave that jolts in Italy's shoulders is enough to make him feel guilty._

_"V-Ve… t-the first time happened two days ago," Italy whispers, breaking away from the other's body and smiling tentatively, "l-lucky me Japan was with me."_

_Germany's eyes darken. Japan hadn't told him anything._

_"D-Don't worry, I'm 'kay now. I-It's only stress." Italy sits next to him and breaths deeply. Germany nods absently, and then caress the other's still wet cheek. Slowly, to not scare him and to not risk another panic attack, brings closer their faces, and kisses away the tears residues. Italy hold his breath for an entire minute, and then relaxes. He remain a bit nervous though, while the German keeps passing his lips on his face, moving on the other cheek._

_"G-Germania?"_

_"It's because of me?" he asks, while the kisses move with excruciating slowness towards the Italian's mouth. The latter's breath quickens lightly; it's spicy, warm, and tickles nicely his chin._

_"Ve, I-I-"_

_"You worry too much," Germany says, resting his front on the Italy's one and crossing their gazes again, only mere centimeters between their lips, "I know how to fight Italien. America was just lucky this time."_

_"I-I'm afraid… t-that you will not… c-come back," Veneziano admits, while more tears form into his eyes, "you… you promise me t-that you will n-never leave me… But… I-It already happened and-"_

_"Exactly because it already happened that I made my promise," Germany accords him a rare, sincere smile, "you will ever loose me, I will always come back."_

_The Settentrione's breath turns back normal, at last; he does not protest when Germany rubs his lips on his own – it's not a real kiss, so he doesn't have a reason to rebel against it. The German nation breaks away after some seconds, meeting again his friend's still scared gaze. Veneziano's eyes are of the same color of amber, with brownish shades at the corner. And they are beautiful, always full of happiness and vitality, and even now, bright and a bit vacuous, they maintain intact their charm._

_He grabs his little, cold hands, way more gracious than his own, and kisses them with atypical sweetness on each knuckle. Italy observes him silently, without protesting, completely void of strength and incapable to hide the shiver that passes through his back._

_"Sleep here?" Germany asks, catching immediately the uneasiness in the other's eyes. He knows that Veneziano would like to refuse, that he wants to stay away from him as much as possible, and that he doesn't like all those attention reserve only to him, they creep him out. But he also knows that he would have never take a single step outside the tent: for some reason, being alone is the Italian's greatest fear, even more of his phobia for wars._

_So, he's not surprised when the Mediterrean nation murmurs a "Va bene, i-if it's not a problem for you," his voice unusually monotone and gaze kept down. He lets him to help him to lie down on the cot again, and makes him take a sit right next to him. Italy rests his head against his shoulder, his lips brushing almost accidentally his cold skin._

_They remain in complete silence for a while, with no noise even outside. Then Germany, feeling the skin of his arm suddenly wet, touches Italy's cheek; he picks up a tears, and tastes it. "Are you still crying?"_

_"I-It'stress". says the Italian nation, quietly leaning against him and closing his eyes. Germany strokes his hair with tenderness, passing his fingers between the thick locks, and lays a kiss on the reddish hair. Italy shivers._

_"Guten nacht, Italien."_

_"… Buona notte, Germania."_

Germany observes the clear sky, his mind full of thoughts of Italy, of his thin, warm body, of his tears – sweet and salty at the same time – of his delicate hands. It pass a week from their last encounter; a week since he came to know about his panic attacks, seven long days since the last time he had the chance to touch him – and he loves to touch Italy, caress him, to feel him stiffen into his arms, divided between the will to return his affection and the desire to run away. And he adores to stroke his clear mediterrean skin, kiss it and bite it gently until the Italian asks him – begs him - to stop with a trembling voice, nothing more but a whisper.

Prussia always mocks him for this, claiming that since he has become Italy's ally, he has become way too soft-hearted.  
Maybe it's true. It's just impossible for him to be angry or aggressive if the Italian was nearby, and just the thought of him induces him incredibly calmness. The feeling of peace that pervades him every time he's in Italy's company is… intoxicating, a drug from which he soon became dependent.

Too bad that Veneziano seems like to not return his feelings, not fully at least: the first times, every moment was a chance to establish a contact, to stay next to him, or just to talk to him about every little thing that crossed his mind. Then, at some point, he changed his attitude: his demands on spending time together or for hugs had become less and less naggings, and when they were alone, he always put some excuse to go away. Curiously, this has begun when Italy and Japan had become friends. That subspecies of a nation really begins to annoy him.

He plays absent-madly with the knife in his hands, and soon he found himself with a deep cut in the palm. He whispers a curse, draining the blood on his dirty tank-top, and it hits him: an idea, a foolish, disturbing, brilliant idea.

Germany would have done anything to stay next to Italy, to taste his tears while pressing his trembling body to his own, to keep his soft hand in his and to kiss his warm and tender skin. But Veneziano would have stay beside him only if something bad happens to him.

The German man grasps the knife with his left hand, and looks at his right forearm. Tears, body and warmness.

"Three purposes."he murmurs, resting the serrated blade on his skin, shivering at the cold metal. And who was him to not fulfill his own intentions?

* * *

_"Itaria-kun_ , is everything alright?"

Italy looks up from the bonfire abruptly: "V-Ve?"

Japan sighs.

"You seems quite absent lately. Did something happened?"

Veneziano looks at him questioningly, then smiles sweetly: " _No_ , everything is fine. I'm just worried about  _Germania_. Ve… his exploration group was attacked and-"

"I understand," the Japanese man interrupts him, his gaze darkening, "Doitsu-san is strong, he certainly wasn't hurt."

"Ve, the wound on his chest has not heal yet. I-I don't-"

 _"Itaria-kun_ , please, you don't have to worry when you have no reason to," says Japan, taking a blanket and putting it on the Italian's shoulder, "look how much you are trembling. You know that stress will only make your condition worse."

"Ve, I-I know!" Veneziano snaps, clenching the blanket nervously, " _Sto bene Giappone_. It's just that I cannot not worry.  _Germania_  is always so reckless… What if  _America_  was there too when  _Germania_  was attacked?! T-The wound on his c-chest… h-has not heal yet, it c-could reopen a-and get infected a-and W-We don't have g-good d-disinfectant a-and-"

 _"Itaria-kun_  please calm down!" Japan yells, taking the Italian nation's hands in his own and squeezing them while looking for his scared gaze, "Everything is alright,  _Itaria-kun_. You don't have to worry, nothing bad will happened! Calm down!"

Japan's assurances seems to work: Veneziano calms down a little bit, avoiding a panic attack just in time. The Asian nation sighs ruefully, not letting go his friend's hands.

"You must go back home  _Itaria-kun_."

"V-Ve,  _G-Germania_  needs me!"

 _"Doitsu-san_  knows how to take care of himself," the Japanese man replies, "he doesn't need someone to nurse him. Besides, your conditions will make you only a burden for him."

Italy winces hearing those harsh words, eyes watering immediately.

Japan doesn't talk. He has worn his Italian friend many time, told him to stay away from Germany, to not befriend him and to maintain their relationship only on a formal level: he knows that, because of the previous war and the critical situation in his house, his mental state is extremely fragile, and the nervous breakdowns that plague him since he steps in Africa are an indisputable evidence. But, instead of helping his supposed friend, Germany takes advantage of this weakness, getting who know what sickening pleasure in seeing Italy crying and falling into despair.

Japan doesn't know how the relationship between the two was before his arrival: maybe it was more serene, definitely more sane friendship and perhaps something even deeper – and is probably because of this that for Veneziano was so hard to get away from the German man. After all, he met a cold and merciless Germany, significally different from the gentle and kind one that Italy described him the first days after the creation of the Axis.

 _"Itaria-kun_ , go back home. At least until you won't get better."

"B-But the s-soldiers-"

"I'm sure that  _Romano-kun_  will be more than happy to come here and take your place after he comes to know about your conditions."

He won't, they both know that; but, for his brother's sake, Romano would have tried – after all, even if he wouldn't admitted, his little brother's health is one of the things that most concerns him.

Italy doesn't answer him. He swallows, and then smiles unhappily.

"I-I'm really useless… am I?" he says with a trembling voice, lowering his head

"You are only tired,  _Itaria-kun_. A little holyday sure will restore your energy," Japan remarks, smiling lightly, "why don't you leave with me tomorrow? We could go to Rome, and you could be my guide."

After a moment, Italy beams at him, a large smile on his beautiful face: "You have never seen San Pietro, right?"

 _"Ya, Itaria-kun_."

"Ve, then you have to visit it, for sure! I'm sure that Vaticano will let us in if I ask him. Is so beautiful, so full of colours! Ah, I wish you could have met Michelangelo,  _ma va bè,"_ the Italian nation's enthusiasm turns of almost immediately, "b-but  _G-Germania_ -"

 _"Doitsu-san_  will have  _Romano-kun_  to help him." 'Help' is probably a big word: after all, Romano hates the German man immensely, and a possible alliance will have been only the consequence of his self-preservation instinct, "And I'm sure he would agree anyway."

"B-But I want to inform him about my departure."

 _"Doitsu-san_  won't come back before four days, one of the officials can inform him."

Italy smiles warmly: "Ve, ok then. I'll go back to my house for a while. I'll go with you  _Giappone_ , if it doesn't disturb you."

 _"Mondaini, Itaria-kun_." Japan rejoices, happy of the fact that he was able to cheer up his friend. Only now he notices that their hands are still combine; he blushes furiously, whispering some excuses, and withdraw a little from the Italian man, who looks at him confused and amused at the same time.

"Ve,  _Giappone_ , you're all red!"

 _"E-Er ya… Uhm w-watashi_ -" he stutters sheepishly, too embarrassed to meet the Italian's happy gaze; but his laughter is able to calm him a bit: such a beautiful sound, a light tone in that hellish war they are living.

Unfortunately, that joyous laugh is suddenly interrupt. Worried by that abrupt silence, he turns toward the other: he sees him pale, amber eyes open in mute horror; Japan follows his gaze, and is immediately distraught by the sight of Germany, cover in dirt and big, crimson stains on his clothes; the three deep cuts on his right forearm almost make him throw up in disgust.

 _"G-Germania?"_  Italy's broken voice immediately catches his attention. Veneziano, pale and trembling, seems like is going to have a panic attack, even more violent than other times. That sight, the German nation cover in blood, is the realization of his worst nightmares.

 _"Itaria-kun_ , please, calm down." Japan murmurs, grabbing his friend arm, noticing the tremor and the cold skin cover in seat. He curses mentally when Italy ignores him, gets up and runs towards the German nation.

"I've come back a little earlier." Germany speaks quietly, and he does not seems to be minimally disturbed or upset by his wounds or by Italy's pallor.

 _"G-Germania_ , y-your arm…  _Oh mio Dio!"_  Italy stutters, while tears begin to fall from his eyes. His hands are trembling, going up and down convulsively, confuse like the mind that commands them.

 _"Italien_ , what's wrong?" asks the German man, with such a fake-caring tone that Japan is tempted to take his sword and finish the work of whoever has reduce the other in such condition.

"W-What? B-But t-the a-arm-"

"Ah, this?" Germany looks at his forearm like he has notice only now the presence of the three deep gashes that open his skin, "It's only a scratch, don't worry about it."

"O-Only a-  _O mio Dio! O mio Dio!"_  Italy screams hysterically, while all the stress he has accumulated since his arrival in Africa explodes in a violent panic attack, way worse of the ones Japan has seen. His legs begin to give in, unable to support him further, and he would have fall if it wasn't for Germany's quick reflexes: he immediately catches his friend with the non-injured arm, supporting him and letting him rest against his chest.

 _"Italien"_  is nothing, Germany whispers reassuringly, caressing the other's back and lulling him to calmness, comforting him, "I'm alright, it doesn't hurt that bad."

Veneziano doesn't answer him back, still sobbing; but the tremor in his shoulder calms visibly, and also his breath becomes more and more regular. Japan remains still next to the fire, looking at the scene in front of him with a mix of marvel, rage and impotence: Germany's influence on Italy isn't a good one.

"It's alright," says again the German man, still massaging the Italian's back until it stops trembling. Veneziano clings to him with all of his strength, and is hardly able to get up, feeling guilty for being again a burn for his hurt friend.

"W-Who d-did this you?"

"A group of America soldiers, an ambush. Nothing too serious, we were able to eliminate them all."

"Nothing too serious?" Japan repeats, looking with disgust at the wounds that ripped the other nation's arm.

 _"Ja_ , this is just… just a little miscalculation." Germany says, glancing coldly at his Asian ally.

 _"Doitsu-san_ , I think you should go to see a doctor to take care of your arm. It looks like is going to get infected, and I don't want your conditions to get worse." says the Japanese man, not offended in the slightest by the other's cold treatment.

"Right." Germany's gaze goes back to Italy, who's now less pale and able to stand on his own feet, although his body is still trembling, "Italien, can you help me to treat my wounds? Is a work that is better to do with another person, right?"

Veneziano gulps, and turns toward Japan who is silently begging him to refuse that request, to let the doctors to take care of the nation. The confusion on the Italian man's face changes, after a few tense seconds, to an expression of pure sadness and mope. He then turns to Germany and smiles weakly, not a trace of his joyful character.

"O-Of course I w-will help you,  _Germania_. F-First we s-should w-wash your wounds… L-Luckily I d-didn't made pasta t-today. W-We c-can use c-clean water and- b-but m-maybe you're hungry, I d-didn't prepare anything- N-No, m-maybe I s-should call a doctor-"

 _"Nein Italien_ , I'd prefer that is you and only you to help me," says the German man, hugging the other with more strength, "we should not call the doctors, they are probably already taking care of other soldiers. Plus, I'm not really hungry, I just want you to help me with bandages, nothing more."

Veneziano's smiles trembles, and he begins to sweat again: " _V-Va bene_ , i-if if this what you want… L-Let's go t-to your t-tent."

Germany smiles sweetly, takes his hand delicately and guides him towards his tent of the camp.

"Do you need help?" asks Japan, getting up and walking towards the two before being blocked by the harsh answer of his German ally.

"Nein Japan, go to sleep, you have to go away tomorrow,  _ja_?"

"Uhm,  _hai_ , but-"

"Exactly. A long journey awaits you, it's better for you to get some rest." affirms Germany, turning towards him without any trace of friendliness, his dark, violet eyes clearly commanding him to live them alone. Japan ignores him, more concerned for his Italian friend, who is looking back and forth between Germany and him, desperately searching for a way to avoid a fight.

"D-Don't worry  _Giappone_ , I-I'll take care of this,  _G-Germania_  is right. G-go to sleep."

"B-But-"

"Don't worry, Italy shows him a weak smile, so fake that Japan is barely able to hold his rage, i-it won't take much time, go to rest."

 _"Hai_." says the Japanese nation after a brief pause, feeling defeated and enraged by the situation.

"We'll go to see San Pietro another time, ok?" says the Settentrione, squeezing Germany's hand when he feels him wince, "Say to Romano that I'm ok, and to send some more pasta, it's almost finished."

 _"Hai_." Japan repeats, watching with sadness the two nations going away, incredulous of his own impotence, internally praying for the end of this damn war as soon as possible, so that Italy could finally break free from that morbid, sick bound.


End file.
